Commuting through the streets of Delhi with almost an hour and a half’s drive each side was no less than a Herculean task. The journey back home, in the evening, would result in a bursting headache.
The megacity with hundreds of newly built flyovers and underpasses, still gets choked in its veins at the peak office hours. The traffic is dense, diverse and chaotic. Perhaps when going through licence training they are made to practice to honk horns as much as possible, sworn not to use the dipper and taken pledge not to follow lanes. In fact the dividing lines whether broken white or solid yellow are to be kept exactly in the middle of one’s vehicle—be it a cycle, a cycle rickshaw, auto rickshaw , a car, truck or a tanker.
I felt the dire necessity to have the cake ( wading the traffic all the way each day) and relish it too( enjoy their antics without getting headache).
So I began to hallucinate…
….and began to see and hear all the secret conversations and the relationships the my car had with the traffic around it. I was enlightened now as to why they dive and dodge across the lines ( just like a five year old kid) when another vehicle tries to overtake or chase them. And no wonder why they honk horns so much—in disgust ( just like us humans) when they see injustice .
Oh ! they are all so much like us humans- chaotic and noisy. And like us they gossip, flirt and swear too at each other, on the way.
Only the wise could see that, and I happen to be one of those few.
I began keeping my eyes and ears open to what was going on between my car and the other fellow vehicles…..
And from then on travelling was fun—after all I am as human as them. and I too love to eavesdrop on what Madame Maruti ( my car) would babble and flirt with fellow trucks and autos along the way.
So from here on just shhh…and listen to what Madame Maruti gossips…
Truck Ji :“Use horn ok please dipper”
Mme Maruti: Hold on, What did you say? Pagla gae ho ?
Mr Truck: “Wait for side.”
Mme Maruti: I’m waiting. But kab takk? ( How long)
Burger Truck: “Bad nazar wale tera thobda black.”
Desi Maruti: Lagta hai dost, angrezi filmein zyada dekhne lage ho ?
Dukhi Truck: “चलती है गाड़ी, उड़ती है धूल, जलतें हैं दुश्मन, बिखरतें हैं फूल.”
Chalti hai gari urti hai dhool, jalte hain dushman bikharte hain phool
Maruti, the reformer: Yaar, kabhi kisi ka bhala bhi soch liya karou.( Think of good also sometimes).
Foul mouthed Truck:“बुरी नज़र वाले, तेरे बच्चे जियें, बड़े होकर, देसी शराब पियें”
( Buri nazar wale tere bachey jiyein, Bade ho kar desi sharab piyein).
Maruti, the preacher: O’ bhai, uski to nazar buri hai, per tumhari to soch insaanon ki tarah gandi hai. Uske bachon ney tumhara kya bigada hai?
Mean Truck: बुरी नज़र वाले तू जिए, और तेरा बेटा बड़ा होकर तेरा खून पिए! ( Buri nazar wale tere bachey jiyen, bade ho kar tera khoon piyen).
Maruti, the Gandhian: Arre bhai, kya tum bhi insaan ban gaye jo khoon peene ki baat kar rahe ho ?
Saint Truck: Na koi buri nazar
Na kisi ka muh kala,
Sab ka bhala chahta hai
barah tiresath (12-63)wala!
Maruti:Kaash, hamre baqi bhai log bhi aisa hi sochein? Aur insaan bhi 😦
Mr Truck: “Ek ya do buss.”
Mme Maruti: “Kya shaadi ya bacheyy?”
Mr Truck:बीवी रहे टिपटॉप
दो के बाद फुल स्टॉप
(Biwi rahe teep taap
Do ke baad fullstap)
Mme Maruti: “Khayal umdah hai, feminist lagtey ho !”
Truck, the Anna Hazare: Sau mein nabbey beimaan, phir bhi mera desh mahaan.
Maruti, the Sonia: Han haan, buss tum hi to ek imaandar ho poore desh mein.
Mr Truck, the poet: शेर दो हों मगर सलीके के,
घर को ऐसी ग़ज़ल बनाना है
(Sher do hon magar saleeqe ke
Ghar ko aisi ghazal bana hai).
Mme Maruti: “Uff, ye ‘sher’ aur ‘ghazal’ se tou Ghalib ki
yaad taza ho gai.”
Truck, the poet: “Malik ki gadi, driver ka pasina, chalti hai road par, banke hassina”
Maruti: Haaye, kya Shayar ban gaya…
Truck Sahab, the wannabe poet: “Fool se kante ache hai jo daman tham lete hain, dost se dushman ache hain jo jal kar bhi naam lete hain”
Maruti, the judgemental: Haaye teri Urdu se tou Hazrat Ghalib pareshan ho jayeinge.
PS: Some less serious gossip in the next blog.